First thought I had today, was that I would Buy a gun Tomorrow I’ve picked out a tree on the hillside Outside my window Under which to shoot myself.
The birds will find me there Not that the hawks Care. But in terms of that modern gold, protein I would be of use in some small way. Through the mouth? Or in the neck? Not the heart. So filled with holes Even a hollow point would go straight through. I study suicides carefully. The ones that work. I can tell you that shooting one’s self In the forehead, down the middle, isn’t one. It could create a lobotomy And then you’d be too blank to know Why you wanted to kill yourself in the first place Not to mention you’d be an inedible vegetable Even more resigned No I want my last moment to be passionate! Like the Old West. My rightful legacy. It would be way too L. A. to Kill myself in a sporty red car Maybe through the eye? or ear? Shooting yourself in the gut is just plain stupid It will kill you But many agonizing hours later Nothing like physical pain to change A person’s resolve Take it from me Remorse is not functional when you’re Good as gone. Regret will not be my last thought My last day My last emotion Will be a celebration. Feeling sorry for me or anyone else Will never work as a send-off. I think about what kind of gun I want Doesn’t matter much how much it costs After all, tomorrow is May Day and I won’t Have to pay the rent or even buy food So I can use a beautiful new Colt … long black barrel Big slugs I hate to waste a whole box of shells But buying just a handful might be a tell. So if you find this poem Look for that near-full box of ammo and give it to a target shooter. Me, I’m going to fire a few rounds, myself, before I go.